


Things Left Unsaid

by Gertrude_Granger



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-28
Updated: 2012-04-28
Packaged: 2017-11-04 11:55:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/393571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gertrude_Granger/pseuds/Gertrude_Granger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's something John needs to get off his chest, but telling his therapist just doesn't feel right. Somehow, talking to a gravestone does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things Left Unsaid

The cemetery was virtually empty when John arrived. It was an exceptionally bleak day, and most people preferred to visit their lost loved ones when the sun was shining. John was relieved. He didn’t want an audience for this.

He hadn’t bothered to bring flowers. Sherlock hadn’t cared much for flowers when he was alive, and he would have scoffed at the very idea of buying them for a dead person. Standing before his grave, John regretted this decision. The marble slab looked so cold, so austere; the man buried beneath it deserved more. Sherlock might not have cared about his memory being honored, but John did.

“Hello, Sherlock,” he said quietly.

He realized he had no idea what to say next. Should he treat this like a normal conversation? Talk about what he’d been up to since the last time he visited? Ridiculous. He could practically see Sherlock rolling his eyes at that. _Get to the point, John, _he imagined him saying. So he did.__

“Ella keeps asking me about you,” he said. “About us. She knows there are things I never told you, and she thinks I need to get it all off my chest. But I can’t tell her. I can’t look at Ella and pretend she’s you, like we’re in a bloody acting class. So…here I am.

“You’re probably wondering what I’m on about. I already poured my heart out to your grave once, didn’t I? Well, I meant every word I said that day, but I left out the most important thing.

“Sherlock…” He took a deep breath. “I loved you. And I don’t mean in a platonic, brotherly way. I mean that I was deeply, hopelessly, madly in love with you.”

There. It was out. Ella had been both right and wrong when she said that this would make John feel better. There was relief, yes, but saying the words out loud made them seem real in a way they hadn’t before. And with the realization that he was in love came the realization that the man he loved was dead. In the quiet of the graveyard, his sobs seemed deafening.

When he could speak again, he said, “Sometimes I thought you might feel the same way. There were moments when we looked at each other, and I thought I felt…something. A spark. A connection. I thought about kissing you in those moments. Once I nearly did. And for the rest of my life, I will wonder what would have happened if I had.”

He sighed. “But it was probably just my imagination, anyway. I saw what I wanted to see.”

Suddenly, John realized he was no longer alone. There were two shadows cast on the tombstone. How long had someone been standing behind him? How much had they heard?

John stood still and silent. Maybe if he didn’t say anything, they would move on.

Leaves rustled, and a hand landed gently on John’s shoulder. He started to turn around and tell the intruder that he didn’t need anyone’s pity, but he froze when the hand entered his line of vision. He knew those long, pale fingers.

Sherlock spoke first.

“It wasn’t your imagination.”


End file.
